Victor
by LikeableTarsier
Summary: A “Random Final Fantasy 7 Yaoi Pairing Generator” crackfic. Rude x Rufus, memories.


A "Random Final Fantasy 7 Yaoi Pairing Generator" crackfic. Rude x Rufus. 'Curious Rude', poker, and memories. Once again with the present tense. It's got me bad.

This makes a lot more sense if you read "Slick" and "Elegance" first. And "Elegance" only makes sense if you read "Past" and "Library", and those only make sense if... yeah. It all starts with "Illusion".

* * *

**Victor**

It's poker night with the Turks. They are in Rude's apartment, for two good reasons. Tseng doesn't play, so he refuses to let them trash his place on principal, and Reno's place is a dump already.

Reno once asked why they never went to the Boss's place, and Rufus replied that he sleeps on the couch in his office. At first Rude assumed he was joking, but from what he's seen Rufus doesn't sleep much, and he's always working. There must be an empty apartment somewhere in the ShinRa tower that's currently serving as the biggest closet in Midgar. Which Rude is also curious about, because he's never seen Rufus in anything but black turtlenecks under white suits.

Reno tosses a couple of pretzels into his mouth and washes them down with a swig of beer before standing up.

"Past my bedtime, yo," he says in response to Rude's look. Or, to Rude's head turning in his direction, since he still has the sunglasses on.

"Have fun, Boss," he calls, tapping his nightstick to the rhythm of the cheesy samba music he picked out, as he walks out the door.

"Thank Shiva," Rufus says as soon as the door shuts. "We can put something decent on now."

Rude raises his eyebrows. Rufus's idea of good music isn't much better than Reno's– he tends towards obscure opera works which Rude thinks are obscure for a reason.

Tonight, however, it's a classical piece redone for acoustic guitar. It's nice, in a distant, melancholy way. What had Rufus called that, minor key? It's the kind of music they have playing live in fancy bars– lounges, he thinks. He feels like he should be smoking a cigar and drinking white russians, not having pretzels and beer in his well-lit, mostly empty apartment. Rufus seems at ease though, as he sits back down in his folding chair and rests his elbows on the card table.

"Gonna deal?" Rude asks.

"Sure. What are we betting?" Rufus asks, shuffling the deck with practiced ease.

"I win, you take your shirt off," Rude says.

Rufus stares at him for a second, then goes back to shuffling the cards.

Rude hopes he isn't blushing. He hadn't meant it that way, even though he's always thought of Rufus as attractive. He's just curious to see what his boss is hiding under those high necks and long sleeves.

Rufus is finished dealing, but hasn't looked at his hand. He's drumming his fingers on the fake leather surface of the table, resting his chin in his palm contemplatively.

"All right. But if I win, you have to take your sunglasses off for the rest of the night."

They are both determined to win this hand. Rude knows that if he loses his sunglasses, he might as well quit for the night because Rufus will be able to read him like an open book. A large print one, for old fogeys.

"One," Rude says, discarding a card and drawing a new one.

Rufus does the same.

"Three of a kind, kings," Rufus says, looking triumphant. It's the best hand he's laid down all night. Rufus has a hell of a poker face, and even managed to outbluff Tseng the one time he'd agreed to play, but he isn't always so lucky with the cards. Rude is.

"Full house," he says, laying down three threes and two nines.

Rufus sighs resignedly. Rude would normally chalk that down to Rufus's sense of humor, but his boss looks tense. He really doesn't want to, Rude thinks.

"Boss..."

"No, you won," Rufus says, and pulls the shirt over his head.

Rude is still puzzled. Rufus's hair is static-y and he's a little on the thin side. He's pale too, which makes sense, but Rude doesn't see what he has to worry about. Rufus doesn't have any deformities or bizarre skin disorders. He doesn't even have a single freckle, just smooth, unblemished skin from navel to...

There, at the base of his neck. Rude wouldn't have noticed it except it caught the light when Rufus was breathing. He leans closer to get a good look.

It isn't much of a scar. A shade paler than the surrounding skin, and just distinct enough that Rude can make out the pattern of teeth.

"I deserved it," Rufus says quietly.

Rufus looks tired, as if the admission costs him something. His eyes glitter with some repressed emotion. Rude isn't sure if that is what drives him to do it, or if it's the way the light shines in Rufus's hair, or the shadows under his cheekbones, or the music softly enveloping them. Maybe it's because he feels that honesty should be respected, and reciprocated.

Rude takes his sunglasses off, and keeps his eyes open while Rufus kisses him.


End file.
